


Full Fathom Five (+0)

by tnico



Series: Flow [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Image, Hand Jobs, Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, and some period typical unhealthy/upsetting sexual perception in act 3, but with all the in-between bits mostly, period typical shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tnico/pseuds/tnico
Summary: The implicit promise of being proportional. (What, Lambert didn't say it,everyoneknows what they say.)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Series: Flow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010676
Comments: 20
Kudos: 72





	1. +0

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be my attempt at the extensively pornographic and somewhat lengthy coda to Denial, regarding the matter of length and the experience of it. 
> 
> I've got a fairly busy life as of late, so I'll be posting it in parts when the animus comes along to finish the parts that are mostly empty gaps!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's going to be quite a bit of talking about sex before we even get to the first handjob, and it'll be a sex act per chapter from there, so i hope you like delayed gratification as much as aiden does.

**0.**

"No, Lambert." Aiden says, as he follows Lambert through the door to their rented room.

"That's _bull_ shit," Lambert fumes in reply.

"I'm not going to take part in this because you've gotten _competitive_ with my cock, love. Ah-ah," Aiden holds a hand up, "I _know_ you, Lam-boy, you can tell me that isn't a part of this for you but _I won't believe you_."

It's just another re-tread of the same debate they've been shooting back and forth for weeks.

When Lambert started this… _thing_ with Aiden he has (they have) he'd accepted that there would be a lot of things in his life now he wouldn't know to expect. That's just a part of relationships, Aiden had said.

Still, there was no part of him that possibly expected the 'arguing over where Aiden's going to put his massive dick' thing would come up so very _frequently._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Full fathom five thy father lies;  
> Of his bones are coral made;  
> Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
> Nothing of him that doth fade,  
> But doth suffer a sea-change  
> Into something rich and strange."
> 
> \-- Ariel's song, The Tempest.


	2. 1

**1.**

The first of the cock-talks had started no less frustratingly than they further went on.

Lambert throws his pack on the bed and storms to the inn-room's single chair, spinning it so he can drop into the seat and fold his arms over its top-rail. "I don't see why there has to be a fucking-- _procession_ about this," he snaps, a delayed continuation of a conversation that hadn't quite put him to frothing yet but definitely left him on a low seethe.

Aiden moves to the bed, setting his own pack much more sedately next to Lambert's, pulling open the looped cord keeping his pack closed. "It's simply the facts of it, love. You've just got to go more slowly and carefully when one of you is sizably endowed," he says as he fiddles with the markedly more complicated locking buckle on Lambert's.

"So you're bigger than the average human. We _both_ know I'm overs on the average human. Just get it wet enough and stick it in, I'll be _fine_."

"Love. You've got to realize here that when it comes to sex with other people, you have some major gaps when it comes to the capabilities of average body."

"Fuck off, I know other people. I learned the anatomy, I can tie a tourniquet, I've walked in on you fucking other people, what else do I _need._ "

Aiden gives him a look from where he's bent near-double over their packs. "Sweetheart--"

" _Don't call me that._ "

Aiden pauses in his unpacking to show his palms in silent apology as he continues. "--ah, _Lambert_ , you know there's things you've never learned about the human body."

"I know _enough_."

"Lambert. When we first met you thought one of the symptoms of the common cold was developing sores."

"And hell with _you_ , I apologize for _nothing_. They fucking _call_ them _cold sores_ , Aiden!"

"Yes, yes-- that's not the argument we're having here, love. My point remains: I'm your first man."

"I'm your first _witcher_ ," Lambert insists.

"But far from my first man, love. In fact, I'd even say it's a bit of a rare privilege, having me as your first. There may be none more a veteran at fucking men out there, come to think of it."

He brightens, apparently warming to the idea enough to start gearing up for one of those wandering and exultant speeches he usually-but-not-always has the good graces to keep to his love of fine foods.

Lambert squints, because yeah, Aiden bragging about how great he is at fucking is exactly the sort of thing that makes Lambert want to _not_ fuck him, sheerly out of spite. Yet it's entirely possible that is in fact Aiden's gambit here: putting on the act to temporarily drive Lambert off his dick. And yet it's _also_ entirely possible he just legitimately enjoys bragging about how great he is at fucking. He is, in either case, unfortunately the type.

"I mean, my age in combination with how traveled I am has given me quite the training grounds, I'd think. And then add in that witcher stamina that keeps me going, and I've had no shortage of ways to train."

"Great, so you're King Jackflirt and I've jack-shit but jacking it, huzzah for you," Lambert snips, in the faint hope it might be sharp enough to cut this short.

"Ah, you know that's not what I mean, love. It's just when they say 'no man will ever compare to your first', in this case it might just be raw statistics," he says as he sets out the insultingly-unsexual bottles of equipment oils they each favor out on the table, in a tone he probably thinks is modest. "I'm not so much selling my cock as the facts."

"You can shove all your _facts_ up your own ass, then, if you're that fucking good at it," Lambert huffs, turning away from Aiden to sit properly front-ways in the chair so that his arms being crossed in front of him may be unmistakeable as a gesture of judgement.

Aiden takes a moment to tuck the knife Lambert keeps concealed in a welt-pocket on his pack under the rag-pillow nearest to the wall where Lambert'll sleep before he comes over behind the chair, tilting forward to drape his obnoxiously long arms (and isn't everything about how tall he is all over getting more frustrating to take, lately) over Lambert's shoulders and resting his chin on the top of Lambert's head.

"Laaaaambert. It isn't that I don't _want_ to. I do, love, impossibly much. I just want to do it _right._ "

"I just want it _done_ ," Lambert says, and then furrows his brow as he feels himself furrow further into his hunch in his seat, because that came out far-too-close to what he actually feels to feel comfortable putting into the open air.

Aiden kisses the top of his head. "I know, sweetheart. But it'll be so much better with a touch of patience, you'll see."

"Don't _call_ me that," Lambert grouses, knocking the back of his head into Aiden's sternum for emphasis and feeling the puffs of breath from his easy laugh on his forehead in return as he holds his hands up in apology before wrapping them around Lambert's shoulders.

"Ah, sorry, sorry. I'm trying to remember, but then you have to go and be so sweet."

Lambert ends the halt he's put on looking at Aiden so he can give him the gimlet stare that sentiment deserves. "I've told you this before, Aiden, but your sense of taste is all fucked."

Aiden's eyes crinkle into joining his habitual grin when Lambert's own meet his, his expression dimpling. "You've drawn yourself up in your insult there, love."

" _No_ , I _haven't_ , because _you won't fuck me,_ " Lambert shoots back before he turns away again so he can live in hope it landed like it was incisive and not sulky.

Aiden ducks his head, the stuttered exhalations of his laughter ruffling at the back of Lambert's neck before he's up again. "Got me there. How about this: think of it like something to look forward to-- don't make that face, Lambert, you've got a rare opportunity! I don't think there's ever been another cock both monumental and historied--"

"You're _trying_ to make me make this face," Lambert accuses, looking upwards.

"Little bit," Aiden admits with a chuckle before ducking in to tuck his nose at the junction of Lambert's neck, "It's cute."

"Wait," Lambert tilts his head to the side to clonk the side of his temple against Aiden's. "The _fuck_ do you mean, 'historied'."

Aiden beams, grasping the whole chair by the seat's base with Lambert still in it and spinning it with a truly awful screech to bring them back facing each other. "Ah, did I really never tell you that one!"

Lambert, discombobulated from the combination of sudden about-turn-friction-wail and the effortless display of raw strength he sometimes forgets Aiden can also just _do_ , only manages to shake his head. Aiden has already begun gesticulating over it, chattering happily. "It was actually all a result of a mix-up in mistaken identity-- of course, this I only realized when they handed me a wagon wheel and told me to drop-trou and go out there. Didn't sign on for _that_ at the start, I'll tell you that much. Anyway, apparently one of the people at the party was some prince or another and he ended up murdering all his brothers and founding an empire just right after, so now the whole to-do's made it into a few of the annals and my cock's included."

Lambert opens his mouth. Lambert shuts his mouth. Lambert holds a hand up, palm out.

"Yes?" Aiden asks.

"Start with the wagon wheel."

"Oh, I put it on," Aiden says, gesturing down to-- yes, the general location of his monumental and _apparently-fucking-historied_ dick.

Lambert raises his other hand, shutting his eyes. Aiden waits patiently while he processes.

Finally, he brings both hands down to smack on his thighs. "All right, no, nope. I'm going to need to hear this out from the beginning."

(So they hadn't really gotten anywhere the first go-around. At least Lambert got a good yarn out of the appalling things that pass for high-brow entertainment amongst nobility out of it. Seriously, a _wagon wheel_?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> footnotes:  
> the wagon wheel is a nod to my dude [lao ai,](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lao_Ai) the man who involved himself forever in world history by entrenching himself in the personal relations and thus the annals of the First Emperor, one of the most important figures in history, through the sole method of seducing his mom through the sheer power of weaponizing What That Dick Do Tho.
> 
> Of course lao ai didn't ACTUALLY put his penis through a wagon wheel-- it was a _chariot_ wheel.


	3. 2 -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i say next installment will have the actual sex instead of just aaaallll the talking about it will you trust me now THAT's the real question

**-**

The second cock-talk commences just as unwelcome-ly as the first round of it. It's a few days later and they've hit a village large enough for a contract to take down a water-hag that covered the cost of a room for the night and even won them enough good will to be largely left alone to it besides.

Once they're settled in, Aiden crowds Lambert towards the bed and as he's feeling willing to be crowded soon enough they're curled up on it and exchanging those slow, lazy kisses he's learning to like so much. It's diverting enough as a distraction it takes him a bit to cotton on to Aiden's hands making their slow descent distinctly southward.

He's sure-the-fuck not _complaining_ , but. "You said you didn't want to try for sex tonight, Aiden."

"I did, didn't I," Aiden muses, as they both contemplate the outlines of his hands from where they've tucked themselves under the hem of Lambert's worn chemise. Aiden's hands are as massive as the rest of him. Lambert can feel where Aiden's broad, roughened palms press in on the sides of his waist, the idle circles he's making with his thumb on the ridges of Lambert's hips. Feels nice. Could feel nicer.

"You did," Lambert repeats, pressing his hands over where Aiden's are from over the undyed nettlecloth Lambert's got on. "Just this morning. Apropos of nothing, and with no apparent motive. Which," he's been tracing the shapes of Aiden's knuckles through the cloth as he speaks, and now he lets his hands wander downwards towards Aiden's uncovered wrists, "You _may be surprised_ , actually ended up coming off as pretty fucking suspicious."

"Ah, did it?" Aiden asks, looking amused and entirely willing to allow Lambert to take the reins for the moment. Lambert now has his fingers seductively wrapped around Aiden's wrists. This, unfortunately, reveals a fatal flaw in Lambert's ultimate plan: he has no gods-damned clue what to do in this situation, hands on a man's wrist as he looms over you, beyond several martial throws or taking it to a grapple. Doesn't seem particularly conducive to his sex-having.

He's been largely bullshitting his way through this exchange so far and he suspects Aiden fucking knows it, from how he's dimpling.

Ah, if it's so important to maintain his honor, the Gods can sort it in the afters, he decides, and just lets go of Aiden's wrists to lean back against the bed. It's not like he has anything to prove here, anyway. It's just Aiden, at the end of it. "I spent the whole-damn-day obsessing over your stupid sex-dodging motives, scarecrow. Fucking hope you're happy."

"A bit!" Aiden chirps, then holds his hands up apologetically when Lambert rises back up to squint balefully in response. "Lam-boy, c'mon. If I'd said I _wanted_ us to have sex tonight, you'd have spent the day obsessing over _that_ instead. I'm pretty sure if so you would have gone for the inn's window the first moment I made motion towards your bits." He gestures to Lambert's aforementioned bits, whose visible eagerness in the proceedings of the kissing is tellingly waning at this halt.

Lambert can't actually counter what Aiden said, so he resolves that stoicness is, in fact, a virtue. Instead of a response, he sits up against the wall, across where Aiden's sprawled over far more than anyone's reasonable fair share of the bed, and reaches towards Aiden's dick, because hey, _he brought it up_. His hand gets immediately intercepted, though Aiden at least has the grace to thread their fingers, which takes a bit of finagling with newly-growing-in claws on Aiden's side. Still nice, though. Nicer still when Aiden pulls Lambert and curls himself around him. As far as denials go, Lambert could go for ones like these. Yet still: a denial.

Aiden kisses his forehead, but Lambert's been placated enough that he'll give Aiden a pass on finding it patronizing. "I just want to talk a bit first, love. We both are-- very different people, but you know that. Yet different from those who aren't witchers as well, in ways that might not be immediately… ...obvious--"

Lambert cuts him off. "This is about the potions coming through in your spend 'cause of the Cat mutagens, right? What you're building to."

"I--" Aiden doesn't often look legitimately flummoxed, centuries old and all. It's always a nice little thrill, to see him knocked on his proverbial ass when Lambert can manage it. " _How do you know that,_ " Aiden says, covering the area of his privates in a mock defense that's coming off a little more real than he probably intends it.

Lambert supposes that's actually fair, given Lambert's previous aggressive disinterest in what Aiden was doing with his dick. (Emphasis: aggressive.) Aiden had attempted to regale Lambert with the more explicit details of his casual sex life only the once, early on in their acquaintance.

(And yes, perhaps he can now concede it _had_ been barbaric, the way he'd warned Aiden off thinking Lambert'd stand for _that_ shit. Counter: a single sharp bite aimed at his nose and Aiden had quit with trying to tell him about the moist-er aspects of his encounters with any other for good, so Lambert says barbaric gets _results_.)

Lambert grants Aiden the dry stare that deserves. "You know just because you tend to forget about the people you've fucked within the week it doesn't mean they _actually_ disappear from existence, right? Dallingr is still, in fact, my friend. Sometimes we even talk."

Aiden stares at him blankly.

Lambert rolls his eyes, gesturing down his jaw. "Blond doctor with the slice scars on his neck and chin who summoned me to Skellige. You two did _whatever_ when I was off shouting down the Landvættir, _apparently_."

"Ah!" Aiden says, clicking his closer-to-clawed fingers together in the imitation of the snap he'd be doing if it weren't for the for the starting-curve of pointed claws on all of them. Usually he keeps the main fingers of his right hand scrupulously filed down for whatever weird Aiden reason, but he's let them go in the last few weeks since they started, presumably for another weird Aiden reason. "Dallingr with all his books!"

"Dallingr with all those books," Lambert agrees.

"Why'd my spend come up?" Aiden asks, as the usual lack of modesty and surplus of curiosity gang up to throw the pretence he's not _dying_ to know out of the cart. "Ah, did he say? Do you think he's published anything about it?"

"No clue, Aiden, write a letter and put it on a boat. It wasn't _about_ you, you just-- came up during. We were talking about how because of--" Lambert gestures to his chest and down himself, the sun-bleached fabric of his shirt and what it covers from his proximity to the witcher in bed with him, who's currently occupied himself with tracing aimless patterns on Lambert's stomach, keeping his touch scrupulously too-high-up-to-get-interesting. "--I was sterile before I ever had the chance to be… not. Which, I get it, you get it, we live it, but there's a difference, you know, in how I…" he trails off, because it always feels clumsy and uncomfortable to have to actually put to words the ways he was made into something different. It's not like he has much point of _comparison._

But then he feels stupid about it, because Aiden's going to find out anyway, because they're _going_ to have sex or Lambert will be forced to do something drastic.

And it's like what Aiden was nattering on about in that meaningless preamble he'd started this off with, too. Something-something-very-different-people, Lambert reminds himself, before taking a breath and continuing.

"We started talking about-- well. Different-- uh, cocks," Lambert admits, forcing through it. He's already committed to stoicism as a virtue and he actually does know the best route to it is not by keeping silent but by stating simply what needs most to be said. "Because mine's-- different too. In a way. Which then got us on the subject."

"I mean, I've always been quite pleased with my different cock, myself. Haven't gotten any bad reviews on it since my earliest days when I hadn't any idea how to use it, either. What was Dallignr's ultimate judgement on his experience, speaking of?"

Lambert shrugs. "Dunno. He just told me you really wanted to know if your dick actually needed to be put on hold with humans for a few hours after the potions wear off or if all the Masters had just been fucking with your cohort."

"Ah, and _now_ I remember our encounter!" Aiden says, clicking his claws again. "I've had many a man in my time, but that's the only one I've ever had ask me for samples mid-coitus."

"Sounds like Dallingr," Lambert agrees dryly, shifting to sit up a bit. "You might really want to write that letter to him, no telling what he's gotten up to with them since."

"And what he got up to with you, love. You still haven't told me."

Lambert moves to stand up, Aiden rolling off of him.

"Just. Dallingr--"

"Yes, yes, Dallingr, what a guy, still not you--"

" _Dallingr_ _knows bodies and shit and that relates to me,_ " Lambert spits out, turning on his heels and crossing his arms. Aiden stares at him blankly for a moment, then straightens before folding into a careful arrangement of limbs that eventually resolves into a cross-legged sit. He nods.

Lambert breathes out, then just breathes some more. Stoicism, he reminds himself.

"So we talked about-- uh, seminal fluid and how it's different from pre-ejaculate and how my cock makes a lot of it when I'm--" he gestures the obvious, the crudeness of it easier, somehow, "--but it's fine, Dallingr had, there were two separate books and it's just normal even if I was still human and I'm fine with it anyway," Lambert says all out in a rush, and then sits straight down back on the bed, arms still crossed and glaring ahead of him.

(He's not entirely sure why he does it, it just feels definitively final. He's over it and fine with it no matter what _anyone_ has to say about anything, because he has _The Precise Anatomae_ on his side, anyway.)

Aiden stares at him blankly, then falls back over on the bed laughing, struggling to free himself from the tangle of his own legs. Lambert scowls harder.

"Not-- at that," Aiden pleads, rolling over and pulling on the hem of Lambert's shirt. "Please, love--"

"It doesn't matter in the first place," Lambert grits out, waiting for this conversation to be over.

"Yes-- no. Wait, swee-- love, love, just, breathe? Please, just-- moment, please, Lambert," Aiden says. He's sort of vaguely patting at Lambert's face, in between the wheezing. Lambert legitimately considers biting at his fingers.

"It's-- I wouldn't, of course I wouldn't-- Well. I mean-- I really, really try not to laugh at something that matters to you, but I just can't help myself sometimes when it comes to the sort of things you think matter to me," Aiden finally gets out in a rush, the patting have resolved into a much more concerted effort to pet at his cheek, stroking the pads of his fingers through the bristles. Lambert allows it somewhat begrudgingly as Aiden positions himself behind him to curl around him, his longer limbs bracketing him crossed-arms and all.

"It doesn't matter," Lambert repeats, but concedes to loosen up a bit, uncrossing his arms and resting them on Aiden's knobbly knees.

"It doesn't," Aiden agrees, "But sometimes you just build things up to mean so much more to-- me, than they'll really ever, you know." He taps the side of Lambert's head, once, mid-tucking him more firmly into the position he's clearly after.

Lambert lets himself be maneuvered, and Aiden moves the petting down to his shoulders, smoothing his hands over them in a pattern. It's nice, making it easier to relax into it, exchange a few more kisses before allowing Aiden to coax his head to the side to be pressed against the space made from the curve of his throat to the hollow.

It's quiet for a moment, only the soft sounds of fabric shifting rhythmically. "...Y'know," Lambert says, pulling himself away a bit so he can give Aiden a proper look. He runs a hand lightly over the top of Aiden's and then slides it lower towards where his cock's been on a pleasant-enough lull, " _I_ never said that I wouldn't be trying for sex with me tonight."

"Oh, _good_ ," Aiden says, and then promptly wraps his arms around Lambert's middle and hooks both his knees under Lambert's to prop him up, legs splayed open to the empty room. It's such an abrupt about-face to the leisurely pace the most Lambert manages is a discombobulated " _hnagh_?" noise.

Aiden ducks his head, pressing his smile into Lambert's nape. Lambert attempts to twist in his hold, but it's an unwieldy position for anything but--

"You-- you _planned_ this," Lambert accuses, settling back against Aiden with a huff.

"I didn't!" Aiden defends. "I just had an inkling how I'd like the night to go. And there you went," he says, tucking a laugh against him now and rocking him back a bit to make the intention all the more clear. "Pants off, or--?"

Lambert stares at the ceiling. "Ah, hell with it." He decides, "Yeah, pants off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lambert's complex he Doesn't Have At All came from my realization that any sort of medical outlier who popped out of the witcher school probably has enough paranoia around 'how much is this. a human thing, or IS IT,' without medical science of the time being [idk shine some colored glass on it](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chromotherapy) level of People Were Just Honestly Trying Their Best With What They Had Which Was NOT A LOT,
> 
>   
> footnotes:  
> [landvættir](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Landv%C3%A6ttir), or land wights, are thought to be the spirits that animate certain places, which is why lambert had to go to them to holler at them.


	4. - end

-

It's a bit more awkward finagling between the two of them to actually work out the mechanics of shucking his breeches down to the breechcloth. It helps, a bit, with how awkward this all is, that just about everything's made awkward in the position Aiden's set on keeping him in.

"Oh, I've had more than enough time to figure out the logistics, love. You would not _believe_ how much I've wanted to watch you," Aiden confirms. "It took some real self-control on my part not to peep when I knew you were handling yourself, you know. I found it very noble of me."

"And I would've clocked you," Lambert mutters. He's not fully hard, yet, but he's getting there, helped along by the heat of another body, the puff of another person's laughter against his neck.

Aiden's getting more personally involved in the proceedings too. He can feel the warm length of him pressed into the small of his back, another consideration of the position.

"Certainly, that also helped with my restraint." Aiden kisses the back of his ear, warm and excited. "Will you show me?"

"Yeah," Lambert says, reaching down to palm his cock to full hardness. That, at least, is somewhat familiar. He hears Aiden intake a breath.

"Mm, oil?" Aiden asks, voice low. He's hooked his chin over Lambert's shoulder, intent on Lambert's hand as he runs it slowly up the shaft of his cock to where the pre-come's already started gathering to leak down the head.

"Nah," is all Lambert says, as he lets the hot beads of it gather in his palm before smearing it slowly back over head with a slow breath out. "If I-- go slow enough, don't need it."

Here, like this, with a hand on his dick and Aiden breathing warm as he watches, he can't really remember why it'd seemed so important, getting out ahead of how wet he could get when he took his time with it. Maybe Aiden was right, a bit, that he'd let it get more important than it was.

He can feel Aiden's shuddering breath from his chest to down where they're pressed together, the thick weight of his cock less a suggestion against Lambert's back and now an insistence. "What do you think about?" Aiden murmurs, sliding his hands from the flat of Lambert's stomach down to the hard press of his hip-bones.

"Don't, usually," Lambert answers, honesty just coming easier when he's got his hand on his dick. "I just-- let myself feel it."

He feels more than hears Aiden's intake of breath, in between the softer, more intimate noises of Lambert's slow stroke. "Mn, what," he says, nudging at Aiden's head with his own. "Did y'want me to say 'you'?"

"No," Aiden says, quiet as he rubs circles over the knobs of Lambert's hips. "No. I want to see you feel it."

He's on the definition of display, legs propped open like this, but it's easy, just doing what he always does. He takes his time, running his light fingers over his sensitive spots, pausing to cup at his balls, letting the pre-come gather to slick up his palm when he wants to go to a slow stroke.

It's nothing new, but it feels like more than that. Not just being watched, but being _seen_ by someone who wants to see, who's getting off on it too.

He finds himself focused on Aiden, more than the rhythm of the pleasure itself. Each minute reaction, small shift, intake of breath that proves this isn't just going nowhere.

Aiden presses in, even close together as they are, like he can't help himself, breath going faster as Lambert picks up his own pace. There's more mindlessness to the hands rubbing over his hips than Lambert's own jerking of his cock, and it makes him huff out a laugh.

"S'funny," Aiden murmurs, only intelligible as a question from the rising tone.

"You. Nn. This," Lambert says, and then hisses through his teeth. As much as he's getting a kick out of dragging it out to pull these small reactions from Aiden, he can't quite keep himself from resisting his own pleasure. He adds a twist to his stroke now, a bit of roughness even with his palm all wet and his cock leaking steadily.

Aiden's the one to gasp at that, pressing a kiss into his cheek and then migrating lower, into the space of Lambert's neck to press kisses there. Lambert uses his free hand to rest on Aiden's head, knotting his fingers through the mass of curls. Not to keep him there, just to-- hold him like that. It feels nice.

It's like that, one hand on his dick and the other in Aiden's hair, that he finally stops luxuriating in the reactions of himself and his audience and finally starts chasing his release. "Aiden," he says, tugging Lambert's head up, "I want to-- want you to-- you want to--?"

" _Yes,_ " Aiden says, sliding his hands from Lambert's hips down to his cock, careful to keep it to the flat of his fingers as he snakes his hand over Lambert's while the other moves to cup and caress his balls.

Aiden's always had bigger hands than Lambert, and he'd known that, but he _feels_ it now, his own familiar palm-and-fingers but the startling zing of another person's fingers-tips where he's sensitive, the feeling of tended callouses familiar and strange all at once.

Then Aiden pushes the hand on his balls lower, to his perineum. "There, there," he says, a hushing noise when Lambert tries to question him but mostly gets out a panting whine. He rubs, then taps, then _presses_ , and Lambert's already shaky but nearly jerks out from Aiden's hold because suddenly everything is shivery and _good_ and he's coming, his brain gone white and clear for once.

"There it is. That's it, sweetheart, that's it," Aiden says, breathless and still urgent and still hot and aching against him.

"Lemme," Lambert says, as soon as he's enough back to himself, turning in Aiden's hold and reaching over, and Aiden frantically maneuvers his pants open as Lambert moves his wet palm to where his cock's been released from its confines.

He tries to get both hands around Aiden's cock but he grabs one, lacing their fingers together as he kisses Lambert. If it can be called that, the desperation making it more a meeting of mouths, gasping into each other on the cresting wave of shared desire.

Until Aiden tenses, hurriedly pulling at Lambert's hand and babbling. "Can't-- potions, poison, it'll be, can't--"

Lambert laughs into the next kiss. "Dumbass," he says, and just strokes harder, "I'm a witcher, too."

" _Oh,_ " Aiden says, and comes all over Lambert's hand.

There's a moment where they detach, get their breath back. Lambert idly examines the thick stripe of aiden's spend that had caught on his hand, so supposedly different from his own. It doesn't really look it.

He raises his head and looks at Aiden. Aiden looks back in solemn recognition and nods. Lambert nods back.

Lambert licks the line of the semen off his hand, bracing himself, and while the taste sure is different it's absolutely that never-forgotten full-body shock of power and toxicity in turn. Aiden gasps in gleeful recognition as Lambert weighs on it and sighs.

"Thunderbolt, wasn't it," he says. The flavor is unmistakable, even through the spend.

"It _was_ Thunderbolt. Lambert. Lambert. Did it affect you? Do you think you could get a full use from the dose?"

"I hate this," Lambert decides.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me," Aiden enthuses.

"I hate _you,_ " Lambert decides further. It feels right.

"I love you. I love this. Want some more? We're witchers, after all! I can _absolutely_ go again."

"Hate that, too," Lambert grumbles, and wipes his hand off on Aiden's discarded shirt.

"Now we just _have_ to follow up with Dallingr. Lambert, don't go to _sleep_ , think of all the _money_ we might save--!!"


	5. 3 -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: frank discussion of a no-contact-made but still undoubtedly sexual assault upon and from the perspective of a character that didn't find it such at the time.

"I'd rather not have sex tonight," Aiden says again on the next day, while they're packing to leave.

"Fucking fine," Lambert says, spinning on his heels and hooking Aiden's legs out in front if him to land him on the bed and himself on his knees in one move, leaving him looking gratifyingly winded. "Then we'll have sex now. Get your cock out and standing, scarecrow."

Aiden slowly shuts his open mouth before he next speaks. "Well, I've certainly gotten a head start, after that."

Lambert tugs at the fall-front of Aiden's trousers impatiently, and with some finagling gets them off and down to his breechcloth. From there he pauses, rubbing his hands down Aiden's thighs as he considers his next step in all this new territory.

"I'm here on my knees and you've yet to say anything," Lambert finally asks suspiciously. "Are you dying."

"No," Aiden says, "I'm just accepting what it says about my tastes, that I'm able to stay hard through you glaring at my dick. From, a little, if I'm fully honest."

Lambert directs his glare upwards.

"Whaaaat! It's a good look on you. Relax a bit, hm? At least you've gotten your first taste of another man out of the way."

"Second," Lambert corrects absently, turning his attention back to the straining in Aiden's trousers. "Not my first taste of it."

Aiden pauses, then reaches out to tip Lambert's head up by the chin with carefully flat fingers and meet his eyes. "I thought you said Dusana was a woman--"

"What," Lambert says, rearing up and shaking off Aiden's grip. "You remember Dusana, who you have _never_ met, but not Dallingr, who I _know_ you _fu_ \--"

Aiden holds both hands up. "--That's not the topic here, love. What other spend did you get your-- well, tongue on, I suppose."

Lambert makes a face. "Doesn't matter," he says brusquely, "Didn't want it."

Aiden's face goes blank. "You-- you told me no one'd ever raped you, Lambert."

Lambert squints. "I did?"

"Did-- if you, those sorts of things you tell me when you're drunk, rather than lying I'd rather you simply bid me off-"

Lambert watches in fascination at the slowly sinking descent of Aiden's sizeable cock from the barrier of his breechcloth. _There it goes,_ he thinks inanely, suddenly _entirely_ aware he's on his knees and staring in morbid fascination at what's functionally another man's living meat tube, and the reality of it has made this all so _entirely_ unarousing that hey, look at that, there he goes too.

Lambert leans back on his haunches. "I wasn't lying. Never got a finger on me or in me. Dick, too. Showed him first-off how hard I'd bite it off if he actually tried for it, he learned his lesson."

"He didn't," Aiden says unhappily. "Who _was_ he?"

Lambert rolls his eyes. "Some uppity-ass merchant who styled himself as a 'collector of fine and exotic rarities', like _that_ doesn't make jacking off on the gruel they were giving me any less foul than just spitting like usual or pissing in it. It wasn't anything like _rape_ ," he insists, because Aiden's face has gone blank again. "It was, you know-- clearly about, about degradation."

Aiden clasps his hands together and then presses them to his lips for a long moment before he begins, in an ingratiatingly patient tone, "Lambert, for some people, degradation _is_ sexual."

Lambert pulls back crosses his arms. It's a strange position, kneeling and cross-armed, but the direction this conversation has taken just feels like it-- needs it. "If you ever think you can jack off in my food, I will jack off right in your eye, see if I don't," he warns waspishly.

Aiden now has his eyes tightly shut, expression tight like the sudden onset of a headache. "Not _me_ , Lambert."

"So what's the problem," Lambert says, scowling now and crossing his arms tighter. "I had to eat some shitty slop before I escaped, and now I'm _fine_ , so _what_. Still a better hand than getting tarred and feathered, anyway. Why d'you think I never go to Novigrad?"

"Because you hate merchants," Aiden says.

"And I hate merchants!" Lambert unfolds enough to snap-point. "Another good reason to never go to Novigrad," he declares. "He keeps _tracking me down_ for those creepy letters he sends, too. Not until he's dead am I _ever_ going back there."

"Lambert," Aiden says. His hands remain clasped. "These are the sort of things you _really need to tell me_."

"I had you read me one of those letters, didn't I?" Lambert says. The memories of it are a bit hazy; after all, the concussion was why he'd needed someone to do the reading for him.

"Lambert, I got half a paragraph into that letter before you nearly burnt my fingers off with Igni setting it on fire," Aiden says exasperatedly. "I certainly never got to find out what the rest of it said."

"Huh. Don't really remember doing that, but it _does_ sound like me," Lambert reflects, before waving his hand dismissively. "Eh, I knew what it was going to say anyway, they've all been functionally the same. Blah blah blah, become mine, offers of patronage and money for my ass followed by veiled threats to my loved ones which, _hah_ , good fucking luck there-- wait," Lambert frowns, hit sideways by the strange, tangled combo of sudden elation and burgeoning-- something uncomfortable in his stomach. "I have a loved one, now." He gestures to Aiden. "Do you-- I think I need to handle this."

Aiden reaches forward. "Come on up here, love, let me hold you."

Lambert goes, Aiden wrapping around him on the bed like a limpet, but not without sniping "I don't need you to fucking _hold_ me, Aiden."

"I know you don't need it, Lambert." Aiden says. " _I_ need to hold you."

"Ah, Lambert," Aiden continues, rocking him in his arms, "I bind my thread of fate to this oath: we are definitely handling this."

Lambert narrows his eyes. "What the hell, Aiden," he says, "Don't make binding oaths when you're not wearing pants, it feels barbaric."

"Ah, Lambert, " Aiden croons, still rocking back and forth, "Wait until we get to Novigrad, then you'll be seeing _barbarity_. I promise you-- in fact, I bind my thread--"

Lambert puts his hand over Aiden's mouth. "Stop making binding oaths when we're supposed to be having _sex_ , the Gods might be _watching_ ," he hisses.

The eager jerk of Aiden's sudden arousal back again does not miss Lambert's notice. Lambert reels back, curling in on himself protectively. "Don't tell me _divine voyeurism_ gets you off, you do that on your _own_."

"It's not that," Aiden protests with a laugh in his eye, "You've just always been so protective about who gets some parts of you when you're so uncaring on who witnesses anything else-- you let me have so _much_ of you," he crowds in, "That no one else, not even the gods themselves, would you willingly allow to see--" He's breathing into the junction of Lambert's neck in that way that he sometimes likes to do in those long times traveling alone together, "--I want, you know, as much as I can want, I think, as mutation-bound. A possessiveness I can trace the edges of-- ah," it ends wetly, with a tongue tracing up the line of Lambert's neck, and begins again with the soft borders of his face, his golden eyes on Lambert's. "Possessing a treasure only you can see the beauty of, perhaps. And yet possessed myself by-- ah, I'd be mad for you, Lambert, were I able to be maddened. Wild for you, in every sense-- any man still living that ever made you suffer, my love, I'll tear them apart--"

"Don't _rub yourself off_ on me when you're thinking of _other men_ ," Lambert says, deeply offended.

"I'm thinking of how satisfying it will be when I've righted some of the wrongs wrought on you, love."

"That's still _other men_ , scarecrow," Lambert states. "Here and now."

"Here and now. That's it," Aiden says. "That's it. You are singular, my love," Aiden laughs. "My singularity-- having possession of you was a foolish way to see it. I'm only in your orbit, I think, and well-pleased you allow me there."

"Well," Lambert says, after a long moment, twining his fingers around Aiden's now, "Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'll be a while yet before you get the actual blowjob, most likely, as this is all I had pre-written for a chapter. you know me, i just like characters talking and talking and talking and--
> 
> if you feel this is too grim a scenario from me, i can tell you that my own image of this is that OMC going through some sort of hellfire-esque conniptions every time he sends a creepy letter only for lambert to scan the first line, go "hah, dumbass spelled my name with two t's AGAIN", ball it up and toss it over his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a big leap in more ways than one, as it'll be my first time actually publishing my writing of sexual content. i'm a roleplayer who's engaged in ERP, when it was a fitting scene for my character to partake in, but i'm also scrupulously careful with it because i have a distinct discomfort with the idea someone could be talking to me casually while at the same time ERPing in whispers to someone else. but am totally fine with my good rp friends sharing logs because they're curious how the scene went IT'S JUST A MATTER OF CONSENT AND TRUST THAT GOT TURNED AROUND INTO an admittedly very strange and specific complex.
> 
> with that in mind, while i usually try to reply to all comments, in this case, i'll hold off answering unless **there's specific questions**! i do love reading your feedback and takes on my writing, and kudos are always appreciated, i just have a very weird trigger i'd rather even avoid the shadow of like a groundhog who's hibernatory and this is the minefield, folks.


End file.
